


On autonomy, alcohol, and the unspoken

by kanjioo (erre)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Band verse, Canon Compliant, Christianity, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ex-EXO, Illnesses, LJ repost, Light Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Religion, Unrequited Love, philosophical nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:52:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9431525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erre/pseuds/kanjioo
Summary: have it, lose it; learn it, find it. (or so he says.) a treatise, by someone who may or may not exist.





	

**Author's Note:**

> an old thing from my docs i.e. all i write is angst angst angst no matter what
> 
> originally published 2/25/16 @LJ

_This is what sharing success means_ , Jongdae thinks, as Baekhyun turns one of their Inkigayo trophies into a makeshift microphone.  
  
He blows the dust off the top and Zitao flops backwards, cackling.  
  
"Thank you, thank you." Baekhyun says glibly. His cheeks are still a little flushed from the shots he downed an hour ago. "As my grandmother used to say - everything is a part of a bigger whole. To our fans, our members, and our families, I'm honored to have been a part of our whole. Thank you!" He licks the trophy and Zitao predictably wheezes on the couch.  
  
"Hey now, that's not just yours." Chanyeol grouches from the floor. Jongdae chooses that moment to pick his way around stray limbs and plates to settle next to Yixing, who is sitting crosslegged and stonefaced on the carpet.  
  
He drops his head on Yixing's shoulder. "Doesn't watching this make you want to get wrecked?"  
  
"It makes me want to drink even less." Yixing's loose hand falls into Jongdae's lap. "Which is good. I ca-"  
  
"-can't drink. I know, hyung."  
  
"Ah." Yixing murmurs. Then, even more softly, Jongdae feels rather than hears against his hair, "Well, stop me if I do."  
  
Jongdae chuckles and links an arm through the crook in Yixing's, sensing the physiological twinge in his chest before the words actually process in his brain. In the dusky light of the living room, they watch Baekhyun recruit Sehun to test how many trophies they can fit in a sleeping Joonmyun's shirt.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jongdae has two perceptions of Yixing.  
  
One is the real life one, the spacey, intimidating one who can be so subdued that they forget he’s there every now and then. Jongdae likes to think that anyone can get a good grasp of another human being after living with them for four years, even if that someone is the physical manifestation of ambiguity and loses touch with reality on a timely basis.  
  
The problem is: Jongdae sees things in shapes, patterns. And Yixing is, by nature, decidedly unformulaic.  
  
  
  
  
The other Yixing is in Jongdae's head. This is the one that Jongdae turns to when he's in a moral dilemma and the real Yixing isn't handy.  
  
Like when Jongdae is lying on his bed and hears Baekhyun rehearsing his MAMA high note for absolutely no fucking reason at 12:46 in the morning, he seeks out his inner philosophical diva and asks: _why do I feel bad right now?_  
  
Yixing pouts and says: _Life is just good and bad things, Jongdae-ah, you'll feel better soon. As I always say - if you can lose it, you can find it._  
  
_Lose what?_ Jongdae asks. _Why isn't the fake you any more helpful than the real you?_  
  
Yixing laughs delightfully. _Being wise has its limits, little brother._  
  
  
  
  
Sometimes, Jongdae suspects that the real Yixing is actually a pod person who has Yixing's dance moves, but none of his grace, slash soul, slash heart. The real - truly real - Yixing is living in Jongdae's head, with the snarky theoretical meditations and the happy glimmer in his eye. It's nice to pretend that version still exists now and then.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He knocks lightly. A sound resembling the slap of a hand on ceramic tile echoes inside the bathroom.  
  
“Xing-ge, open the door.” Jongdae whisper-demands in Mandarin. He twists the cold knob. There are things he wants to express that he doesn’t know in Chinese, so he switches back to Korean as he jiggles the knob over and over. Yet only surface words emerge. “Come on, open up now. What’s going o-”  
  
The door cracks open, enough for a sliver of Yixing’s sallow face to peek through. “I’m fine. Go sleep."  
  
“No, you’re not. Are you sick? Do you need me to get Seunghwan-hyung?”  
  
“No.” Yixing slams his eyes shut, and tiny, sparkling bits of tears are squeezed out from the seams. “I can take care of myself. Go to sleep.”  
  
“Don’t be stupid. Let me in.” As Jongdae speaks, he wedges his foot further between the door and doorframe. “Please, I won’t tell, I promise.”  
  
Yixing gives. (Jongdae wants to believe this is so, but he suspects Yixing just doesn’t have the strength to block him any longer.) Jongdae facilitates the click of the lock behind him to show Yixing he keeps his promises. Yixing doesn't give any indication of noticing, only breathes out through his nose and supports himself awkwardly against the sink.  
  
He's trying to block the contents of the toilet bowl from sight.  
  
"I think I ate something wrong. No big deal. It’ll be gone in the morning.”  
  
“Well, I’ll stay with you then, I can’t sleep anyway.” Jongdae sits down and crosses his legs to show Yixing he's really not going anywhere.  
  
The force of Yixing's next retch plasters his torso to the toilet. Jongdae notices how bulky Yixing's knuckles are; they jut out like little stoppers in the pipes of his thin fingers, flashing white and red as Yixing grips the plastic seat. He doesn't know why he's paying attention to these details now, of all times, but Jongdae doesn't surprise himself either - he's always been late on the uptake. This is just one of the many things that he's missed about Yixing.  
  
A cloud of guilt accompanies the thought.  
  
After the bout of nausea passes, Yixing stands to rinse out his mouth, and then sinks back onto the floor. He doesn't meet Jongdae's gaze.  
  
"Can I ask you a question?" Yixing annunciates carefully through his acid-dipped throat.  
  
Jongdae expresses his assent.  
  
"Do you ever stop and think and realize that we're just co-workers?" He asks, as he clumsily pats his chin dry with his sleeve. "Like isn't that weird?"  
  
"...What are you talking about?" Jongdae chuckles. It bounces sharply off the walls.  
  
"I mean. I mean - you really don't have to do this. Do you think about this? We really don't have to care about each other."  
  
Jongdae opens his mouth to protest, but Yixing is bulldozing on, his brow clinching tighter and tighter by the second.  
  
"The more I think about it, the more I don't understand. Why do so much more? We only need to be civil to each other, right." He stops wiping. "We just need to be able to work together." Yixing reiterates, looking lost.  
  
Jongdae starts picking up stray multicolored hairs and throwing them in the trashcan. "I don't know. I think I'd have to try really hard not to become friends with people I live with."  
  
Yixing watches Jongdae clean. "I guess we... So maybe we would have been friends without trying anyway. I'm... Nevermind. Forget it."  
  
_There are two sides to everything_ , a familiar voice says from the back of Jongdae's mind. _Stop trying to find-_  
  
"-the right answer." Jongdae blurts.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Stop trying to find the right answer." Yixing stares at him and Jongdae stares back, unrattled. "You're going to go crazy."  
  
There's a long silence. "Ah. Okay."  
  
"Yeah. How are you feeling?"  
  
"Mm. Maybe you should go sleep," Yixing says, as he folds his legs to his chest and presses his forehead into the valley between his knees, "please."  
  
Jongdae pretends he doesn't know Yixing is trying not to cry, for selfish reasons.  
  
"Okay, I'll leave you alone. Goodnight, ge."  
  
"Goodnight."  
  
He closes the door to show Yixing he keeps his promises.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jongdae doesn't drink every time the members do, but sometimes, he does. On those nights, it is Yixing who drags Jongdae from the living room rubble and into their room.  
  
It's not like Jongdae doesn't appreciate the help, but it's bitter when it's from Yixing. It's that damn look on his face, the look of no-complaints, of a pillar of sanity. Yixing has enough on his hands without this shit, but he rolls Jongdae's listless form into his bed and wordlessly pulls off his socks, like he’s done it a thousand times.  
  
Jongdae doesn't remember a thousand times, and that scares him. Surprise, surprise.  
  
"Hey." Jongdae slurs. He bats at Yixing's shoulder - the general area, anyway. "Hey hyung, it's fine."  
  
"Shut up and lie down." Yixing orders. The socks are off, and he hesitates. "Do you want me to change your pants?"  
  
"Phff." Jongdae tosses incoherently. He must have expressed an affirmative though, because suddenly Yixing is moving closer, his shadow crawling up Jongdae's torso. An urge overcomes him and he lurches forward.  
  
"Hey-" Yixing protests around the wind-up of limbs. Jongdae can hear the breaks in Yixing's breathing as he struggles to pry Jongdae's arms off. Yixing pats his back helplessly. "Hey... hey, how am I supposed to help you like this? Lie down, okay?"  
  
Jongdae hugs tighter.  
  
Yixing sighs and worms a hand between their chests. "This is ridiculous." He manages to push them apart a little, though Jongdae's head falls forward against Yixing's neck. His skin is hot and comforting against Jongdae's forehead.  
  
"I don't want to force you off, but I will." Yixing warns. The buzz in his throat makes Jongdae lift his head. Yixing's nose looms in his vision. "On the count of three. One..."  
  
Yixing's words smell like strawberries and cream from the cake they had earlier.  
  
"Two..."  
  
His voice is so light and soft, and he just smells so sweet... Maybe he'll taste sweet -  
  
_What?_  
  
"Th-"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"It's okay, right?"  
  
While it isn’t the wierdest request, Jongdae hasn't step foot in an actual church for at least a year now. He shifts his body so he's facing Yixing more fully and studies his expression. Yixing doesn't seem particularly sad or anything; he's just... blank. Then again, Jongdae's never been good at reading faces, and Yixing is one of the most obtuse.  
  
"Yeah. I mean, honestly I’m surprised, but if you want. We'll have to be careful. I haven't gone in a while."  
  
"Thanks." Yixing's sparse eyelashes descend and flutter. He rubs his neck. "I think I need some more faith in my life."  
  
Jongdae stares a bit longer than usual. "That's… good to hear, I guess."  
  
It's how they end up squeezed in the back corner of the balcony at M---------- Cathedral, shirts tucked, caps down. It’s odd to be obscuring their faces indoors, so they have to find a place to hide.  
  
Jongdae shuffles them to sit next to a pair of parents and their glum daughter.  
  
"I bet it would be nice if we came in the morning." Jongdae points discreetly. It's hard to make out with the sky so dark outside, but Jongdae’s been in enough churches to recognize Mary cradling baby Jesus, staring down at them from the opposite wall.  
  
"If only." Yixing responds simply, looking this way and that. His black hair makes him seem sharper, paler, despite the warm lighting. "There's a lot of people," he notes. Jongdae agrees.  
  
The Cathedral is much nicer than the church Jongdae’s family used to go to. He feels the smoothness of the polished wood beneath his palm; it's a light color, not at all like the rough mahogany in the church near Gyeonggi, which required some traveling to attend. If he's honest, Jongdae feels kind of displaced, a little like a child playing dress up in his parents' clothes. There's no one reaching over to keep him quiet and still like there used to be - only curious Yixing, whose eyes are roving while his body remains respectfully poised, hands clenched over the slope of his knees.  
  
_It doesn't matter_ , comes the fleeting thought. He’s here because he’s here. Jongdae could be sitting next to anyone, a stranger.  
  
He slides closer into Yixing’s side. Yixing doesn’t notice.  
  
“This is my first time at something like this.” Yixing marvels instead.  
  
Jongdae crosses his arms. “Sunday service?”  
  
Yixing hums, and then looks abruptly down at the thigh pressing against his. He pats Jongdae’s jean-clad leg. “Did you get thinner?” He asks suddenly. “Hm.”  
  
“I don’t know, maybe.” _Worry about yourself, hyung_ , Jongdae is about to say, but then the children’s choir starts off with a hymn that is ripped straight from Jongdae’s memories, and his voice sputters out in his throat from very effective conditioning.  
  
  
  
  
Some five minutes into the sermon, Yixing brings his mouth to Jongdae’s ear, frustrated, “My Korean isn’t good enough for this.” His breath is wet and warm on Jongdae’s skin and reminiscent of the summer air outside.  
  
“Mm…” Jongdae murmurs distractedly. “Just let the words wash over you.” His parents would have been proud to know Jongdae remembered what they used to tell him.  
  
“Ah…” Yixing nods. Jongdae tunes back in to the pastor, whose speech is pleasant, with a soft and deep tone that reminds Jongdae of Kyungsoo. Jongdae’s not the metaphorical type, but he’s always imagined oceans when Kyungsoo talks. That kind of voice is made of waves - they lull him forwards and backwards with uneven cadences, secret sand slip-sliding beneath the water, and Jongdae submits to it out of habit, unwittingly relaxing back against the pew.  
  
The next time Jongdae glances to his right, he finds Yixing wearing an expression of utmost concentration. To anyone else it might look like a face of particular reverence, but Jongdae knows better. That’s Yixing’s problem-solving face. That’s his brain whirring in overtime, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar vocabulary, trying to gather bits and peices. Trying to find an answer.  
  
  
  
The Yixing in Jongdae’s head would say: _It’s all about the journey, Chen-Chen, not the destination. Let go, be at peace._  
  
But Jongdae hasn’t seen that Yixing in a while, so instead, he settles for grabbing hold of the fake one’s hand.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The show ends without any major hitches, the biggest being Baekhyun yawning embarrassingly during a solo shot. Midnight shrouds the air. Sehun and Chanyeol break off to go somewhere, but the rest of them pile exhausted into the van.  
  
"Hey." Jongdae says lowly, pulling on Yixing's arm. He lets the rest of the group walk ahead of them a bit. "I didn't do anything weird last night, did I?"  
  
"No." Yixing smiles. It's lopsided. "Heh, you're worried? I shouldn't have told you, huh."  
  
"Wah, this hyung." Jongdae sighs, shaking his head. His fingers wind themselves between Yixing's anyway. "I remember you used to be nicer."  
  
_Love expresses itself in many wa-_  
  
"Oh really?" Yixing's mouth cocks to the side even more, and his hand is already pulling away. "Maybe."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
There is always an alternate ending for every time Jongdae closes the door.  
  
In his favorite one, Jongdae cradles Yixing half in his lap, their joints banging around in the cramped bathroom space, and lets Yixing cry quietly into his shoulder. Yixing leaves an uncomfortable wet patch on Jongdae's shirt, and then turns around to grab toilet paper to try to hide the tears and the snot. Jongdae rubs Yixing's back when he's not looking. He feels the stutter of Yixing's hiccups hitting rhythmically against his palm.  
  
Yixing is so graceful, so neat, even when he's unraveling; he extricates himself from Jongdae's limbs and swipes his thumbs underneath his eyes, leaving behind a glistening, salty trail on his cheeks.  
  
"I'm sorry." Yixing mumbles thickly.  
  
"It's okay." Jongdae replies, and it's implied that everything will be all right.


End file.
